


You Best Not Tell Anyone About It

by OptimisticNihilist



Category: True Detective
Genre: Adultery, Angst, Bisexual Female Character, Dark, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Hate Sex, Lesbian Sex, Mild Blood, Secret Relationship, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 11:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13569942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OptimisticNihilist/pseuds/OptimisticNihilist
Summary: In 1995, with the girls at school and Marty out on the case, Maggie gets paid a surprise visit from Vermilion Parish's court reporter with regards to her husband's affairs.





	You Best Not Tell Anyone About It

_Vermilion Parish, LA, 1995._

Noon cracked still in the Louisiana heat, the sunshine fighting against the overcast of clouds and acrid, ashy smoke which pumped out of the nearby factories, giving the skies an unnatural, dirty sepia tone, which contrasted the green which grew in the foreground. Puddles of dirty water lay stagnant in potholes next to which power lines hung dangerously across the quiet, uneven roads which on the side was home to several decrepit and ill-maintained structures and buildings, giving about the unnerving yet plausible impression that the apocalypse was crawling in.

As the woman let her children out of the Camry and kissed them goodbye she eyed closely at the man on a lawnmower just on the schoolyard. A heavy scarring occupied the man's face, like a pissed off 'gator just took a huge chunk off and mangled it, and yet, in spite of all his misfortunes, he was still smiling, not a care in the world and content with his job.

Maggie wished the same. She was aware of the sheer depravity of the killing and the seriousness and dedication undertaken in solving the crimes, but she did not expect Marty to sink this low, to forget what the family, and the kids, stood for.

He was a good man once, sharp, intuitive, and had a good sense of humour, but perhaps the glory days are gone by now.

The mother of two drove back to the house, braking the sedan in front of the garage after which she walked in to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. Sitting by the living room she turned the TV on and watched as Major Quesada gave another press conference regarding the grisly murder of Dora Lange, as tears flowed like water down her cheeks, sipping arbitrarily.

They were prepared to leave the house before night strikes.

As Maggie continued to mourn the loss of her husband's old self she heard the doorbell sound off accompanied by a repeated knocking.

She placed the glass on the table and marched over and opened.

She recognised the woman in front of her in an instant, and strangely enough, she had wished that she had a spoon in her hand so that she could just gouge her eyeballs out right there on the spot for the whole of Vermilion Parish to see.

"Marty ain't home." Said Maggie.

"This isn't about him." A devilish smile took form on the court reporter's face. "It's about me..."

The door slammed as Lisa edged inside the house.

"...And just me."

"You shouldn't have come here." Voiced the woman of the house. "Show some respect, we're going through a hard time right now-"

"He busted into my fucking house, and beat the shit out of my boyfriend." Laughed Lisa, her piercing, blue eyes turning watery, not unlike Maggie. "And I'm going to do the same to him."

Spontaneously the woman leaned forward, pulled the mother towards her and pursed her lips against Maggie's as the latter unsuccessfully attempted to resist her advances. 

A more rational part of Maggie wanted to kill her violently and parade her across the streets so that the world could see what a conniving, adulterous bitch looked like in person while a more animalistic, vengeful part of her took hold and continued with the action, as the court reporter slowly unbuttoned her shirt.

Lisa, she admitted, was a beautiful woman, with a seductive smile, straight dirty blonde-coloured hair, plump lips, a well-endowed rack and large, pearly eyes as blue as the Louisiana sky, and, in a perverse manner, she reminded her of herself in her younger days not just in appearance, young, filled with vigour and a desire to change things. She had struck gold in the genetic lottery and was using it to her advantage.

As their lips met Lisa thrust her tongue forward forcefully to savour the woman's mouth to taint her being with her own to spite her former lover, ice-colored eyes lighting up with glee as she watched Maggie wince with a mixture of vitriol and fear as she continued to explore inside.

She pulled back suddenly, just as they were getting it on.

She was putting on the same smile as she did earlier, her arms curled around Maggie's neck.

"If you knew the type of monster your husband really was." She whispered in her ear. "You would have left much earlier."

Pushing her back and using her right palm to squeeze the rose-coloured cheeks of the woman's grinning, smug-filled face she only had a word for her.

"Shut your fucking mouth."

There she subconsciously lead Lisa up the stairs to her bedroom and unlocked, there which hung a massive, grandiose portrait of Marty and herself on their wedding day. Dressed in white, the smiles on their younger selves were genuine, a symbol of much happier times which unfortunately, did not last.

Staring at the portrait she felt a set of hands push her into the bed as she turned around to face Lisa, who slowly pulled the drapes inward, setting the room to darkness. She continued to grin menacingly, almost Cheshire-like and inhuman, eyes obscured, as she sauntered over and laid on top of the wife.

Going through the last of the buttons she stripped off her shirt and unfastened her bra, Lisa lifted the woman's head up to face her as she went down on her, groping her, trailing her lips up her neck and kissing all over her face as if she desperately wanted to leave a permanent mark on her for Marty to see. 

Bringing Maggie's arms above her and pinning them down the woman felt Maggie's lips sucking on her breasts. She attempted to replicate the scenario of the break-in as she pulled her pants down and began to smooch loudly between her thighs.

There she heard Maggie moan, gradually turning louder by the second.

She undid her knickers and began to lick, as the mother of two children covered her face to fight back the guilt-ridden yet pleasing sense of orgasm.

Proceeding to trail back to where she started Lisa kissed upwards until their lips met again.

Continuing inside the woman's mouth Lisa soon got hers, a sharp pain landed down on her like a boulder as Maggie bit hard on her lower lip.

Lisa touched her lips and felt the blood drip on her fingertips, smelling them and rubbing them as she looked down and at the pathetic bottom, her face contorted into a white sheet of pure rage and grudge.

She laughed, her cackle steadily becoming more intimidating and sadistic as time went on.

There Maggie saw the opportunity to do the same, and Lisa soon found herself with hands around her throat, pressure increasing as the older woman took a good look at her match.

The evil had reigned and won.

"Get the fuck out of my house."

Laughing away Lisa took her time and dressed up as the woman looked away in disgust and faced the portrait again. The darkness had turned their faces non-existent, and the image became little more than two unknowns standing side by side bound together in nothingness.

"Let this be our little secret. You best not tell anyone about it." Smiled Lisa as she headed for the door. "Not even Marty."

She felt the back of a hand strike her across the face, as Maggie pushed her against the door, hands around the collar of her shirt.

She was huffing and tearing up, like a wounded prey in the wild seeking retribution.

_"Don't you dare speak his name."_

Giggling like a demented little girl Lisa let go and walked herself out, slamming the front door as Maggie heard a set of engines sound off away from the house.

Alone in the bedroom she choked, broke down and sobbed loudly as she continued to stare at the dark wedding portrait for a while, covering her face with the blanket on the bed, she nauseated and made a regurgitating sound. She wondered to her lonesome about how deep the hole which trapped her was and thought nothing but the future of her family and children. Marty was gone, and so was her.

She released the drapes and tearfully picked up her notepad and pen.


End file.
